Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: Crowley delights in a good nap, while Aziraphale prefers dithering in his shop. But when the angel gets curious, can the demon tempt him to sleep? Aziraphale x Crowley. It's back! NEW CHAPTER!
1. Dust

Hello there! This is the first fan fic I've written in quite some time. It's not quite complete at present, but the end result should demonstrate what happened to my mind while reading Good Omens and Milton's Paradise Lost at the same time. It was a fascinating exercise which I undertook deliberately. I'm not sure why it resulted in the writing of a fic like this.

The story as I've envisioned it is quite short, perhaps 3 or 4 chapters, and somewhat slashy. Slash is new territory for me, where writing is concerned, and I've had fun exploring the very particular nature of slashy interactions between Aziraphale and Crowley. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, of course!

It goes without saying that I do not own Good Omens, Aziraphale, Crowley, Paradise Lost, or anything else mentioned herein which belongs to somebody more creative and/or cleverer than I am.

**Note 1/21/05: This fic is back after a long time without updates. I hope those who enjoyed it before will still be interested enough to see what happens! It will be completed very soon. My thanks to everyone who reviewed to threaten me with fiery perdition if I failed to finish it!**

**Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?  
****Chapter 1: Dust**

The backroom of Aziraphale's bookshop was dusty. It had always been dusty; Aziraphale liked it that way. Clearly, he could have got rid of the ever-present granules anytime he wished, but it wouldn't have been the same. The smell of _dusty_ old books, in Aziraphale's opinion, was far superior to that of _plain_ old books. Plus, the way the sunlight gleamed off the particles as they drifted through the air was comforting. It made the light appear to shine through the window in shimmering streaks. It reminded Aziraphale of Heaven. Make no mistake, he preferred The Earth; it was far less formal and ceremonious, more interesting, superior in variety. But it was important to remember where you came from.

Crowley did not share Aziraphale's fondness for dust. He liked things to be clean. Unnaturally clean, even. He was, after all, unnatural in origin. Crowley, being a demon, did not have to worry about allergies or similar ailments. He fancied, however, that were he a human being, he'd be the sort that would begin sneezing uncontrollably at the mere sight of a cloud of dust. Considering this, he decided to try it. He always _had_ wondered how it might feel. If nothing else, perhaps a sneeze would adequately convey to Aziraphale his displeasure at lingering long enough in the dusty room to possibly become covered in the stuff himself. If there was one thing worse than the dust alone, it was having it all over your Armani suit.

Crowley sneezed.

It had sounded somewhat artificial, but the demon figured it was good enough for a first try.

Aziraphale peered at him over the top of several bottles of wine they had been busily consuming since lunch time. It was something of a weekly ritual for the angel and the demon to meet for lunch and proceed to get mind-numbingly inebriated. Aziraphale's fine golden eyebrows creased in confusion.

"What are you playing at?" He asked.

Crowley affected a sniffle as he uncorked yet another bottle of wine.

"What makes you think I'm 'playing at' anything?"

Aziraphale stared as Crowley refilled their glasses. A dry red wine. Nicely aged. More Crowley's taste than Aziraphale's. He preferred something sweeter.

"Why did you pretend to sneeze? Neither of us is susceptible to respiratory irritation, considering we're not strictly required to breathe."

Aziraphale sipped his wine. It gave his mouth the sensation of being full of cotton balls.

Crowley smirked.

"Must be all the wretched dust in this room."

He brushed his hand over his sleeve as if to swipe the offending particles away.

"Even a demon has his limits, you know."

He continued to smirk as he saw Aziraphale's agitation increasing.

Aziraphale ran a hand through the blond curls atop his head.

"I suppose it's futile to hope that you'll ever cease to be a complete bastard."

Crowley was openly grinning now.

"Come on, Angel. You know you wouldn't have me any other way. What would you think of me if I started acting all sweet and polite like you? It goes entirely against my nature."

Aziraphale sighed, pulling restlessly at a string trailing off the sleeve of his argyle sweater. It was nearly sundown.

"Shall we sober up?" The angel asked in a suspiciously pert tone.

Crowley snorted. "Sober up? We're hardly drunk enough for that, are we?"

Looking briefly around the room, Aziraphale shrugged. "Perhaps not. I'm through drinking, however. I've been meaning to reorganize a bit." He began collecting the bottles strewn across the tabletop.

Crowley, of course, had the nerve to look sad.

Aziraphale hated when he did that.

"You're welcome to stay, or course. If you think you can endure the dust."

Crowley frowned. He hadn't actually intended to offend the Angel. He had just been teasing him a little bit. Apparently, Aziraphale was rather more sensitive than expected about his….dust collection.

The demon rose to his feet and drained the remaining wine from his glass with a fluid, distinctively serpentine motion. "That's alright. If you're busy, I'll just head home and sleep it off. I haven't enjoyed a good nap in weeks."

Aziraphale shook his head. "I shall never understand why you feel the inclination to waste your time sleeping. It seems to be the ultimate expression of infernal laziness. After all…"

Crowley held up a hand. "Yes, yes, 'Evil never sleeps and Virtue is ever vigilant.' I remember. I must say I'm surprised that you haven't become more open-minded after all we've witnessed. You should try sleep sometime. Perhaps it would loosen you up a bit. It's similar to, but almost entirely unlike a good book." He adjusted his sunglasses and opened the door.

The angel regarded him suspiciously. "Even if what you just said made any measure of sense, I'd still find it somewhat difficult to believe."

Crowley smiled lazily. "You'll never know until you try. If you get finished 'reorganizing' and decide you'd like to continue getting pissed, feel free to drop by my flat." With a casual wave over his shoulder, the demon departed.

Aziraphale began shifting piles of dust-covered books from one shelf to another, integrating some new acquisitions into his collection as he saw fit. He felt somewhat guilty about shepherding his companion out the door, and hated his mind for wondering if sleep was really as nice as Crowley always insisted. Soon, he began to feel lonely.

'Maybe…' Aziraphale mused, 'maybe I _should_ go to Crowley's later…'

The slightly anxious angel was entirely unwilling to admit to himself that part of him was curious to see what Crowley would look like while sleeping, and secretly hoped he might catch him at it if he paid a surprise visit.

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So that's the first chapter. The second is already complete, and I plan to post it in a few days whether I get any reviews or not! However, reviews _would_ be nice. I like reviews. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think!


	2. Unlawful Entry

Ok then. Here we go with Chapter 2 of this lovely story.

Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed, it really motivated me to keep on trucking with this story. And anything that can make the phrase "keep on trucking" enter my mind is definitely a good thing.

Disclaimers from Chapter 1 obviously still apply.

**Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?  
****Chapter 2: Unlawful Entry**

Crowley felt a tingle of satisfaction as he shut the door of the Bentley. He had just experienced the intense pleasure of hearing a "Best of Queen" cassette being crushed under the wheels of a passing delivery truck.

He had been expecting Brahms' 'Hungarian Dances'. The magnitude of his displeasure at instead hearing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was, in a word, otherworldly. Despite his disgust, he realized that there was a simple reason why his cassettes continued to transform in this irritating manner. It was because he so thoroughly enjoyed destroying them afterwards.

Crowley decided it'd be best not to tell Aziraphale about this habit. It seemed a bit too similar to an act of righteous smiting for him to feel comfortable sharing it with an angel. Aziraphale might think he was going soft.

Inside his spacious flat, the demon thought about Aziraphale as he brandished his plant mister and advanced towards the plants on his windowsill. Aziraphale, with his tousled curls and horrible argyle sweaters. Crowley quickly stopped himself from smiling, lest the plants think he was in a merciful mood. He found it somewhat difficult to feel bad about irritating Aziraphale; it was far too much fun, and righteous indignation suited the angel perfectly…

Crowley was distinctly uninterested in thinking about why he felt this way, or what the implications might be.

A long standing friendship was bound to create some fond feelings, after all. And irritating the angel was almost part of his job.

Perhaps when he woke up, he would go apologize to Aziraphale for being such a prat about the dust. He wasn't normally inclined to do things like apologize, but it always seemed to lessen the angel's vexation. Crowley resolved to visit Aziraphale after his nap. With that decided, the demon took off his slightly dusty Armani suit jacket, laid down atop his immaculately neat bed, and fell instantly to sleep.

**xxxxxx  
****xxxxxx**

Aziraphale was dithering. He had been dithering almost since the moment Crowley had left. All the books were in order, his papers neatly stacked. He had also spent some minutes doing the accounts on his appallingly out of date computer, which he loved.

Now, he was busily reconfiguring his drawer full of pens and pencils.

"Oh, bugger," he muttered, realizing he'd been fiddling with a fancy space age pen that Crowley had given him for the past five minutes. It wasn't the pen that caused Aziraphale to curse (which was something he had learned to rather enjoy, from time to time)—it was the demon, who had insisted that Aziraphale needed to modernize his collection of writing implements.

Thinking about Crowley caused Aziraphale annoyance simply because he'd been trying not to think about him for the past two hours, with varying degrees of success. Throwing the pen back into the drawer, Aziraphale decided there was only one thing for it. He grabbed his jacket from its hook on the wall. It was tweed, with those stylish suede elbow patches that Aziraphale liked so much. As an afterthought, he snapped up one of the leftover bottles of wine from earlier as he headed out the door.

He locked the shop with an extremely antique key, slipping it into his pocket as he headed down the narrow street in the direction of the nearest tube station.

Aziraphale adored public transportation. He found the entire concept fascinating, and far more planet-friendly and economical than maintaining a gas-guzzling automobile like Crowley's Bentley. True, the Bentley in question did not require fuel, or create pollution. But it was the principle that mattered.

The angel watched the other people strolling up and down the Picadilly Line platform. He always noticed that nobody, rarely even the tourists, seemed to stop and contemplate the genius behind the London Underground. Maybe it was because Aziraphale remembered seeing the tube system built, or because he remembered how tedious citywide travel had been before it existed…it never ceased to impress him.

Sure, it had its drawbacks. It had a tendency to be cramped and smelly, for one thing. Trains often ran a bit late. Sometimes the train you were expecting turned out to be going in the totally opposite direction than the electronic schedule board said. Then, there was the tendency of some more unstable citizens to throw themselves onto the tracks. That was always messy. The accidents weren't good, either. Aziraphale remembered the Moorgate crash back in 1975. That was a nasty business. It pleased Aziraphale to know that no tube train would ever crash with him aboard.

The angel decided to bypass the busy station closest to Crowley's place in favor of a less frantic stop just to the north. Crowley's flat was situated on the outskirts of a trendy London neighborhood. He lived in an oddly organized area consisting partly of warehouses, partly of expensive and highly desirable apartment houses.

As Aziraphale crossed the street in front of Crowley's building, he saw some scattered bits and pieces of something looking suspiciously like a "Best of Queen" cassette. The sight brought a small smile to the angel's face, and he continued to wear it as he mounted the stairs to Crowley's flat.

**xxxxxx**

Sleeping quite soundly, the demon inside the flat shifted. He exhaled contentedly, sprawling languorously atop the covers. Needless to say, he was blissfully unaware that Aziraphale was standing outside his door, debating whether he should knock or simply let himself in.

**xxxxxx**

Aziraphale stood at the door, deliberating. He didn't feel comfortable showing up unexpected like this. True, Crowley certainly never bothered to ring or knock before showing up in the backroom of the bookshop…hmm. The angel finally concluded that unlawful (or, at least, uninvited) entry was against his principles. He rapped sharply on the door three times.

He waited.

After thirty seconds, he knocked again.

Nothing happened.

Aziraphale scratched the back of his neck. It was obvious that Crowley was home; the demon would rarely travel even to the nearest shop without driving that automobile.

The angel thought it would be proper etiquette to knock one last time. After doing so, he bent down and looked through the mail slot into Crowley's front hall.

He listened.

Nothing.

Aziraphale bit his bottom lip as he reached for the doorknob. He turned it quietly. It was open, of course. He stepped into the foyer.

"Hullo?" called the angel. No response was forthcoming as he peered around a corner into the spotless kitchen. He walked into the center of the room, looking across the counter into the demon-free sitting area. He set the bottle of wine on the countertop as he passed.

Aziraphale shook his head at the flat screen television. Crowley certainly loved his expensive gadgets.

"Crowley, are you at home?" he called.

Aziraphale crossed the room to the windowsill. He glanced at the gorgeously green plants. He never could figure out how Crowley had attained such a talent for gardening. Plants seemed to flourish under his care; you could almost feel some sort of emotion from them, some sentiment that _just_ eluded Aziraphale. He wished he could figure it out. The angel loved plants, but he was an abysmally bad gardener.

Aziraphale sighed. Maybe Crowley wasn't home after all. He decided he would leave the wine and a note apologizing for his earlier behavior. He had just resolved to do this when he noticed the door.

It was a door he'd never noticed before the few times he had visited, leading through the eastern wall of the sitting room. The angel pondered. What could this be? He knew Crowley had a bathroom (regardless of whether he needed it or not), but that was back down the hall towards the front door. Perhaps it was a study, or a passage leading to a fire exit. Curiosity got the better of the angel, and he strode briskly across the room to the half-closed door. It never crossed Aziraphale's mind that he might be pushing open the door to the demon's bedroom…

…not his conscious mind, at least.

**xxxxxxxx  
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So there it is, chapter 2. I hope it was enjoyable. I promise things will be getting a bit more exciting in chapter 3. Oh, yes they will! ::laughs the universal all-powerful author laugh:: Send me some reviews and let me know what you think!


	3. Liquid Lapse

Hi there! Yes, this fic is still going on. I know, I know… It should have been updated about 2 months ago. Things got a little crazy. There were the holidays and all that nonsense, and then I went on an 18 book Discworld binge (not to mention I think I read all the City Watch novels at least twice). I had only read one or two from the series previously. I guess you could say I finally figured out what all the fuss was about. So I slacked off, but I don't intend to leave this unfinished! I'm pretty sure I might have promised, after all. Anyway, might as well get on with it.

Note: I think I fixed the problem with the italics. At least I hope. We'll have to wait and see. Stupid Computer….

Warnings and Disclaimers: I don't own Good Omens, Aziraphale, Crowley, or anything cool like that. Three beers and a whiskey & ginger ale were consumed during the writing of this chapter. Fair warning!

**Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?  
****Chapter 3: Liquid Lapse**

It was around 9pm, and the first rays of moonlight had just started to creep through the bedroom window. The faint beams cast a sparse and silvery illumination over the man-shaped creature sleeping deeply upon the bed. A thin stream of drool glimmered at the corner of the creature's mouth as his head rolled lazily from one side to the other. The creature was in fact a demon, and he had been napping for approximately two hours. He had just entered the deepest phase of his sleep as he murmured something unintelligible and snuggled his head a little deeper into his pillow. If one looked closely enough, they might be able to see that the eyes beneath the demon's closed lids appeared to be moving about. They seemed to be swiveling from side to side, up and down, as though he were reading something written on the back of his eyelids.

As a matter of fact, Crowley was having a dream.

This may not seem odd, but for a demon to have a dream is especially significant. Crowley was the only demon in recorded history to take up sleep as a hobby; this should illustrate the extreme rarity of a dream originating in the subconscious of a demon. There _were_ a few other demons that had experienced the phenomenon of dreaming, most often after being knocked unconscious by _another _demon. On these rare occasions, the demon in question usually dreamed about exacting violent revenge against the soon-to-be unfortunate associate who had assailed him. Vivid and realistic, yes. But not especially whimsical, one might say.

The strangest dream ever had by a demon (up to this point) was one had by Crowley during his 19th century slumber. It had been about kittens waging an epic, merciless, very ruthless war against puppies, and was the real reason Crowley had awakened in 1832. Not to go to the lavatory as he usually attested. That had been one hell of a dream. Maybe even two hells.

The dream Crowley was currently having was not a nightmare by ordinary standards. Considering the surprising content, it would be rather hard for Crowley himself to categorize, had he been at all interested in doing so. Even demons usually dream about things that are already buried somewhere in the recesses of their minds; it was becoming apparent that Crowley had been successfully repressing some rather interesting imagery. Of course he wasn't worrying about things like that at the moment. He was busy enjoying the dream.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

**CROWLEY'S DREAMLAND**

The demon, currently lounging about somewhere deep within his own subconscious, shot up into a sitting position and looked around in confusion. The last thing he remembered was laying down atop the (perpetually) freshly laundered linens on his bed in London. To memory, his bedroom did not in any way resemble a warm and airy moonlit garden. Crowley's plants _were _beautiful, but he was relatively sure that not even he could frighten them enough for them to grow on quite this grand a scale.

Fragrant night-blooming flowers were all around, shining with the celestial sheen of midnight. The branches of a sizeable tree swayed gently in the warm breeze, shading the demon from the direct rays of the moon above.

This was interesting. He seemed to have mislaid some of his clothes, as well. All of them, to be precise.

Ah, of course – A Dream. That figured.

Crowley relaxed, observing that he appeared to be perched upon a bed of soft leaves and flower petals, some of which were scattered across his lower half. This seemed nice enough. Certainly better than the dream he'd experienced in 1832. Thus satisfied, he lay back down upon the verdant bed, closing his eyes and rolling onto his side. Snuggling down into the cool leaves, he snaked an arm out to make himself more comfortable and…

Froze.

His eyes snapped open, and he experienced a moment of abject shock as he realized what it was that his innocently questing hand had encountered.

Or, rather, _who._

Crowley remained stunned for a few tasteful moments before the grin began to spread across his face.

Aziraphale was laying beside him. And he was _asleep. _

The demon drew his hand back from where it had met Aziraphale's shoulder. He shifted and propped himself up on one arm in order to better observe the slumbering figure.

Angelic was one word, he supposed. One word, obviously, which did absolutely no justice to the divine perfection that currently met his eyes. The angel was lying on his back, one arm tucked sweetly beneath his head and the other draped across his noticeably naked and leaf-scattered torso. Aziraphale's hair was the usual disarray of golden curls, but the subtle light made them glow with a silvery illumination. At least Crowley _thought _it was the moonlight. He was willing to admit that it could be that natural (supernatural?) unearthly radiance that was commonly attributed to angels. In a moment of surprising clarity, the demon realized that he really didn't care which it was. Shadows cast by the branches above danced across the pale expanses of the angel's skin.

Crowley sighed, concentrating on the contours of Aziraphale's face. He almost laughed as he imagined what Aziraphale would say if he were awake – surely something like, "Are there crumbs on my face?" or "Why are you looking at me like that?"

…Why…

The demon didn't think about why as he brushed a stray curl away from Aziraphale's temple. This _was_ a dream after all, and demons on the whole spent enough time when they were awake dishing out the temptation that Crowley figured it wouldn't hurt to be on the receiving end in just one dream. It was almost like field research, yeah…

He tried not to think about being awake as he trailed his fingers from the angel's temple down along the side of his face, admiring the small smile fixed upon his lips. Fascination and curiosity caused Crowley to lean in further as he brushed his thumb across Aziraphale's bottom lip, barely touching. Soft, he thought, as he leaned his face closer. He snorted inaudibly. What a surprise.

The demon let his hand slide down over Aziraphale's neck, caressing the edge of the angel's jaw, eventually coming to rest at the junction of his collarbones. He was examining Aziraphale so closely that their noses were nearly touching. The angel's eyelid's flickered ever so slightly, and a moment later Crowley received the real surprise.

Aziraphale's eyes opened slowly, luminous blue with reflected starlight, gradually focusing and locking with his own.

After a few uncertain seconds, a startled gasp escaped the demon's lips. Crowley found himself paralyzed with excited terror at what he saw looking out of the angel's eyes.

The moment was a shivering liquid lapse.

The plain _desire _in Aziraphale's eyes perfectly mirrored his own.

**END CROWLEY'S DREAMLAND**

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Well, there you have it. I'm pretty pleased with the way that turned out. A bit short I know, but it seemed more sensible to end here than to try to transition directly into the next part of the story. Don't worry, there's lots of fun left to come! If anyone's still out there, fire off a review and let me know what you make of it!


	4. Devil in My Dream

Oh, my goodness! Yeah, that's right. This fan fic has returned. A pleasant confluence of circumstances enabled me to get this story pretty close to completion. I don't know what got in the way of me finishing it before. It sounds really pitiful to say that it was just 'life'. It's been a long time, so I suggest that anyone who's still out there re-read the first 3 chapters before continuing.

Most of the credit for this update goes to two sources. First, to the reviewer who brought to my attention the fact that it had been approximately 10 months since I updated this story. Needless to say, I hadn't realized how long I had left everyone hanging. I'm truly, truly sorry! Second, some of the Anime I've been watching recently has brought me back into a slightly slashy mood. I didn't feel I could do justice to what happens in the rest of this story unless I was in the right…frame of mind. Are you pickin' up what I'm throwin' down?

A small warning. I haven't actually read Good Omens in at least 6 months or so, and my copy is currently on loan to a friend recovering from surgery. Needless to say, the moment the damn book was out of my house, I wanted to read it. Shows what you get for being a good friend. So, if there's any canon/characterization discrepancies in this new chapter, let me know. I felt a little shaky being removed from the original material.

Disclaimer: I don't own Good Omens, Milton's Paradise Lost, or anything else of particular literary merit. All the writing I actually own that's worth spitting on is scattered across a series of disorganized notebooks in handwriting that even I have occasional difficulty deciphering.

**Why Sleepst Thou Crowley?  
****Chapter 4: Devil in My Dreams**

Aziraphale squinted as he entered the dark room. It was a quirky habit he'd developed over the last millennium or so. Being ethereal bestowed the advantage of never needing a flashlight even in the darkest of labyrinths, but after so many evenings spent searching for rare books in the hidden back corners of shadowy libraries he had cultivated the affectation just the same.

He looked around the room with polite interest, noting the large window, sparse but tasteful furnishings, and spacious bed.

Wait a second. Bed? This was a bedroom. Aziraphale paled. _Crowley's _bedroom?

Sure enough, there was a very obvious demon-shaped figure sprawled across the bed. Aziraphale's hands twiddled nervously as he considered his present dilemma. Intruding on Crowley like this felt more than just generally wrong. It felt _sinful_. Spying on a sleeping demon seemed far beyond the danger zone of acceptable conduct for an obedient, upstanding angel. But he was so _curious_. And he wasn't _technically_ doing anything wrong.

No one had ever said 'Thou shalt not take a quick peek'…

Aziraphale noticed that he had already taken several unwitting steps toward the bed.

So why not?

And here was Crowley slumbering with bare feet, black pants, and an expensive looking white silk shirt. The top few buttons of the shirt were unfastened, causing it to gape open at just the right angle to reveal a tantalizing view of demonic collarbone. The angel's lips parted in wonderment as a very uncharacteristic delighted sigh was produced by the sleeping figure.

Reaching the side of the bed, Aziraphale hesitated. The bed was rather large, and if he wanted to get any closer he would have to climb at least part way on. His hand brushed against Crowley's down comforter. It was soft, fluffy, and white.

Like a cloud.

The angel wondered only briefly about the demon's surprising taste in linens before carefully raising one leg up to perch on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale scooted closer little by little, not wishing to disturb Crowley's slumber. Leaning over, he studied the demon as he snoozed unaware.

He looked so _comfortable_ with his limbs flung haphazardly atop the covers. And his face – the expression was agonizingly innocent. Aziraphale leaned his face even closer, bringing it mere inches from Crowley's. He could feel the brush of warm air escaping from the demon's mouth. It seemed Crowley was quite the purist, continuing unnecessary respiratory activity even in his state of hibernation.

Aziraphale smiled briefly before trailing his gaze away from Crowley's lips, up the smooth planes of his face, toward his eyes. Without thinking, the angel reached out and gently brushed aside a lock of dark hair that had fallen across Crowley's right eye. The demon's eyelids weren't squeezed tightly shut. They appeared as though they'd just been pulled gently down like a shade covering a window.

It brought to mind that old metaphor. It seemed oddly applicable, even considering that Crowley technically had no soul for his eyes to be a window to…

The angel was violently startled out of his reverie when the eyelids he'd been so carefully observing snapped open, revealing two pools of molten gold. Aziraphale hardly had time to emit a strangled cry of alarm before Crowley gasped and lurched upward.

**xxxxxx**

Time seemed to stop, the frozen moment turning in and out upon itself as the dream-dazed demon's forehead cracked against that of his angelic admirer.

"Holy Shit!" exclaimed Crowley.

"Bloody Hell!" echoed Aziraphale.

Barely awake, Crowley no longer knew which way was up. One second he'd been dreaming something rather naughty about being face to face with Aziraphale in a foresty bower. The next thing he knew, he seemed to be awake and face to face with Aziraphale in his bed.

Wait a blessed minute – Aziraphale _in his bed?!_

Crowley tried to shake his thoughts into some semblance of order. He couldn't remember being this confused since…well, ever.

"Erm."

The demon's gaze quickly shifted to the area of his bed from whence this inarticulate sound had originated. It was undoubtedly an Aziraphale sound.

Which, he quickly discovered, _had_ come from Aziraphale.

The angel was crumpled quite ungracefully near the foot of his bed, limbs tangled in confusion. His golden curls appeared even more tousled than usual, and he was blushing so severely that Crowley could almost _feel_ the waves of head radiating from the angel's cheeks. The demon was both relieved and disappointed to notice that he and Aziraphale were both fully clothed. Unlike in the dream he'd just been having…

Crowley tried to relax. "Hello, angel. Fancy meeting you here."

"Err…yes. Terribly sorry to wake you." Aziraphale collected himself into a more comfortable position.

Crowley stretched his arms lazily, smirking at the angel's obvious discomfort. "So, do you come here often?"

Aziraphale looked scandalized. "I—must you always be so perverse?"

"I was only kidding. Retrieve thy mind from yon gutter."

The demon's mischievous grin faded as he saw the flustered angel begin to scoot toward the edge of the bed. He'd better stop teasing before he scared Aziraphale away. That was the last thing Crowley wanted. This situation was way too good to squander carelessly.

"Don't run off, Aziraphale. I promise I'll behave." Crowley mentally crossed his fingers behind his back.

"I didn't mean to disturb your nap…" The angel looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Crowley wondered why.

"Don't worry about it. It was actually the dream that woke me up."

Aziraphale seemed to relax a little, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with one arm bent at the elbow. Crowley was surprised at the curiosity in the angel's pale blue eyes. "What were you dreaming about?"

The demon paused, carefully considering his answer.

"Do you remember that Milton chap?"

"Yes. He was a bloody charlatan. I mean, honestly:

'Why sleep'st thou Eve? Now is the pleasant time,  
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields  
To the night-warbling Bird, that now awake  
Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song…'?

…as if The Adversary would ever talk like that."

Crowley flopped onto his side, facing Aziraphale and mirroring his comfortable pose. "True. It sounds more like something your lot would say."

"My 'lot' don't go around tempting innocent women to their ruin."

"Oh? What about that one _you_ did? Paris 1902 if I recall correctly."

The angel paled. "That was a return favor for you. Rescuing orphans from a burning building ring any bells?"

"1897," Crowley mumbled.

"Anyway, I can't see what any of this has to do with your dream. Was Milton in it?"

The demon smirked, thinking privately that if Milton had been there he probably would have pissed himself.

"Not in person, no. Just a variation on some of his…lusher imagery."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not especially, no."

"Did something bad happen to wake you so suddenly?"

"Not bad, just…surprising." Crowley regarded the angel thoughtfully. "Though not as surprising as seeing you hovering over me when I woke up. Inquiring minds want to know…"

Aziraphale's eyes shifted to and fro, trying to focus on anything but Crowley's amber gaze. "Errr, yes. You see, I came to apologise for being difficult earlier. But you were…sleeping, obviously."

"So why didn't you wake me up?"

The angel sighed. Crowley hated making him look like a little kid that had been caught at something naughty, but he really was dying to know what Aziraphale had been up to.

"I guess I was…curious. You always talk about sleeping, so I thought it was interesting. I just…wanted to look at you."

Crowley was truly startled by the earnestly whispered answer, and mildly shocked at how it made him feel. If the demon had been endowed with a pulse, it would have been speeding along at quite a clip.

He shifted his body closer to that of the blushing angel with a snakelike movement. He slowly reached out, devilishly gentle fingers turning Aziraphale's face toward his own. The angel gasped, not having noticed Crowley's advance.

"Angel, you can look at me anytime. Whether I'm asleep or not."

The angel's eyes widened. "Crowley…there's no need to tease—"

The demon leaned closer, stopping Aziraphale's words by placing one slim finger on his lips. He could swear he saw the brightness of the angel's ethereal aura increase in magnitude with his touch. Not wanting to miss his opportunity, Crowley slid one hand into Aziraphale's curly hair and closed the distance between them with a soft kiss.

The angel stiffened slightly as the demon's lips pressed gently against his own. The feel of it intoxicated Crowley. He felt lighter than air, and as tentatively as he was kissing Aziraphale he could still tell that he tasted of everything sweet…

After a few more blissful seconds, he released Aziraphale's lips with one last gentle press. He found himself staring into the angel's glowing blue eyes, scarcely realizing that he still had one hand twined in Aziraphale's golden hair.

Looking into those luminous eyes, Crowley realized that they were the same as they had been in his dream. Questioning, burning with some untold desire…

Before he had a chance to think anymore, he became conscious of the fact that Aziraphale was now kissing him, rather insistently. The demon tilted his head to the side, tugging the angel closer with the hand now fisted in his curls. Crowley released a surprised groan when he felt the angel's tongue tracing along his bottom lip. It was as warm and sweet as melted chocolate as it slid into his mouth.

The demon's eyes burned a message of want and need into the angel's as he trailed his hand down to Aziraphale's shoulder, gently pushing him flat onto the mattress. He returned to kissing the angel soundly.

Aziraphale produced an encouraging purr in the back of his throat. If things continued on in this manner, Crowley would hardly have to make any _effort_ to…well, you know. He slithered one hand up under the edge of Aziraphale's argyle sweater, lips and tongues still locked in a sensual slide.

The demon could scarcely comprehend his rapture when he felt Aziraphale's shy fingers slide inside the top of his shirt to trace along his collarbone. He could have sprouted wings. The white and feathery kind, because he was in heaven.

Amidst the heated kiss and the exchange of increasingly bold soft touches, Crowley was able to process one scrap of irony.

Who could have ever expected that this angel in his bed would turn into the irresistibly tempting devil from his dream?

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Well, there you have it. A nice, big chapter! I hope it was worth the wait. And I also hope there's nothing screwy with the formatting. By my calculations, there will be one more shortish chapter, and this will be complete! In case anyone is…curious…the passage from Paradise Lost can be found in Book V, beginning at line 38. And the chapter title is from a Cure song. If you're still out there, drop me a review!


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